


one in the folk that wear the crown

by rain_sleet_snow



Series: does the walker choose the path [5]
Category: Old Kingdom - Garth Nix, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, Palace Intrigue, Prequels As History, Rumors, Scheming, Spies & Secret Agents, Unreliable Narrator, attempted coup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 07:03:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20616950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/pseuds/rain_sleet_snow
Summary: Rush Clovis once knew Queen Padmé. This time round, he thinks he can install King Luke.





	one in the folk that wear the crown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SecondStarOnTheLeft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondStarOnTheLeft/gifts).

> Another palace intrigue prompt - Niamh's suggestion. She wanted some Drama after Leia took the throne and I was happy to oblige!

The court of Queen Leia is familiar, to one who knew that of lost Queen Padmé, and Rush Clovis knew Queen Padmé's court very well. Though nothing is quite the same - the manners less formal, the architecture more practical - there are important similarities. A young queen, without benefit of experience, and untrustworthy advisers. (If you can call a smuggler an adviser.) A great tragedy that sparked her reign. The love of the people. Young councillors, like the handmaidens who had surrounded Queen Padmé from her first day to her last: the queen, her brother, the grim-faced young Abhorsen, even the new-made lord Andor, nothing but a fosterling raised on high, they are all twenty-five or less, and they believe in high ideals. The only one who's older, and may be wiser, is the new Wallmaker. But with so much of the Kingdom in disarray Bodhi Rook is seldom in Belisaere. He travels the land, mending Charter stones, putting public infrastructure in order, at Queen Leia's decree (and that too is familiar; the high-handed and expensive pronouncements of a queen who fancies herself a reformer). He is often in the company of the young prince.

The prince. Yes, that is new. Queen Padmé had no living family: there was no other person who could hope to hold the throne, and her unchallenged position allowed her the latitude to act as she wished that Queen Leia now derives from having fought her way to the throne. But now there is a prince, with a connection to the Charter as deep as the Sea of Saere, a sunny smile that the people love, and no political acumen at all. He doesn't look the image of royalty the way Queen Leia does, with her dark hair and stern eyes, the red and gold that is all she wears now. But he is tested in battle and at one with the Charter, and his responsibilities weigh on him less heavily; it shows in those warm blue eyes. He raises a cheer wherever he goes, and no small amount of awe.

Oh, he's not stupid, Prince Luke, nor is he without a temper. But he knows nothing of politics, and Clovis is convinced he can be led. Padmé could be, when the two of them were children in Belisaere, and Prince Luke reminds Clovis of Padmé. For all the striking resemblance to Padmé when the two of them were at their closest, before her Royal Guard grew up and stole Padmé's heart, the queen reminds him of someone else entirely.

The Court whispers, or some of them do, that Clovis may be father to the queen enthroned. Clovis lets them, even though it's as plain as day that those are Anakin Skywalker's high, flat cheekbones and too-bright eyes on both twins' faces. It's only bait, after all. 

Queen Leia watches impassively, and says nothing. Prince Luke looks at him like he's curious. Clovis smiles back, and Prince Luke seeks him out. 

Clovis talks to him of his mother, and of the Kingdom before she fell. He talks of Queen Padmé's childhood when she was just a younger princess, and skates lightly over the Blue Plague that orphaned them both and brought her to the throne. He talks of the handmaidens, and charming, heroic, vanished Obi-Wan Kenobi. Of the then-Abhorsen-in-Waiting, when Galen Erso was merry and brilliant, and his vivacious wife Lyra. Prince Luke eats it all up with a spoon and comes back for more.

Sitting there in yellow silk and black velvet that makes bronze of his skin and crystal of his eyes, eager and bright, Prince Luke is so full of colour that Clovis knows a regret or two. Padmé wouldn't have wanted this for her son; shame on him.

But Padmé has been dead for more than twenty years, and she wouldn't have wanted any of this for her children. The damage is done. And Queen Leia is already creating the conditions for a rebellion, picking apart the alliances and perquisites that form the scaffolding of the Kingdom's nobility. At least this way, Clovis tells himself, if he is in charge, he can ensure there is not too much bloodshed. Charter blood must not be spilled, after all, there is so little of it about. Perhaps the Daughters of the Clayr will take her. She will be safe there.

The smuggler will have to die, of course, but storms do happen at sea. The foster-brother will probably have to go too, but he will require more care. He has a guard sending that seldom leaves his side, and he has married the Abhorsen: a dangerous enemy to make. If Queen Leia's face tells Clovis nothing of her thoughts, the Abhorsen's tells Clovis that she thinks nothing of him. And Lord Andor's tells Clovis nothing at all, because Clovis never sees him face on.

Clovis freshens the old mustard-yellow tattoos of a master merchant on his face and dresses as a respectable officer of the guild in sober brown and green broadcloth, trimmed in gold. He wears a red rose in his hat for the honour of the queen and smiles wistfully a great deal; when asked, he demurs at first, but then says how well he remembers Queen Padmé, how glad he is to have seen these days of joy again. He invites Prince Luke to join him hunting or sailing, tentatively, as if he hesitates to trouble a young prince with the fancies of a much older man. Queen Leia says nothing and he holds his nerve.

Clovis allows himself to be persuaded to call Prince Luke "Luke", but only in the company of friends, so of course the whole palace knows immediately. He tells Prince Luke that of course the scurrilous rumours are untrue; he has not the honour of being Luke's father. But he's sure that that gentleman would be very proud of his son and daughter and their Kingdom resurgent. (A safe bet. Anakin Skywalker's been dead for decades.)

'Their' kingdom: Prince Luke doesn't question it. Clovis lets it be. 

Men and money start to flow into his hands. The queen carries on with her reforms, as if nothing is happening. Maybe she doesn't know.

If so, the Kingdom is better off without her. 

Prince Luke sends for him, one evening. A game of cranaque. Padmé used to play with Clovis, and now Clovis has taught her son. He can admit to himself that he's sentimental about this. 

He dines with Prince Luke, and they take a glass or several of wine, and Clovis feels warm and confident. Prince Luke is not his king yet, but he will be. In this comfortable sitting room, with a view over the whispering sea, Clovis believes he will be.

The prince gets up from his seat, laughing, and says he needs air; Clovis laughs too, and says it's as he pleases. 

"Help yourself to the brandy," Prince Luke cries from the balcony, "and I'd like a glass more too. And then we can play another game."

Clovis gets up to fulfil his prince's orders. When he turns around, Queen Leia is in Prince Luke's seat, and in the flickering firelight her eyes are hard as amber.

"Or maybe you'd prefer a different opponent," the queen says. She's in a nightgown, fine white lawn from throat to toe, and a heavy floor-length robe belted at her waist. Red brocade embroidered in gold, flames licking at her from neck to ankle like she is the fire itself, and Padmé's crown perched on her loose dark hair, hanging in thick rills over shoulders and chest. Power hangs over her like a thundercloud.

Soft footsteps announce Prince Luke's return. The smile has fallen from his face, and as he leans against the back of his sister's chair Clovis automatically catalogues the glow of the firelight on Anakin Skywalker's sharp cheekbones, his stubborn chin, his implacable eyes.

"Your majesty," Clovis says. "I'm always happy to share a game with you, but I didn't know you'd be joining us."

"There are a lot of things you don't know," Queen Leia says.

Clovis looks at Prince Luke, crushing his instinctive panic. "My prince -"

"Don't waste your time," the prince recommends. 

"I don't -"

"We're finished here."

A dismissal is a dismissal. Clovis goes.

He evades the men sent to arrest him, and makes it to the little boat standing ready. It pulls away from the shore, and only when they are too far out for Clovis to swim does the boatman pull back his hood.

"Master Rush Clovis," says Cassian Andor, his eyes narrow with dislike. "You're under arrest."

"Please struggle," his blasphemous construct of a sending says helpfully, pulling back its own hood. "We're very annoyed with you. We'd be thrilled if you had an accident."

Clovis stares wildly from side to side.

"You should have known better," Andor says, cuffing him with rough hands, "than to get between them." He shoves Rush into a bare cabin, and takes up the tiller. "Blood calls to blood, you fool. And twins share it from the first."


End file.
